Farscape Epic RPG: The Forge
by Chant99
Summary: Based on my RPG. Formerly entitled - Anyone Else Want To Negotiate? Expanded into a story about Berret's past catching up to him and a chance to make an atonement. Work in progress as usual.
1. Foreword

THE FARSCAPE EPIC RPG UNIVERSE: NEW CHARACTERS & SETTING.  
  
Author's Note: This story was written based on the characters from my Farscape RPG group. I thought I'd try posting it here to see what others thought. But first I need to explain a bit about our RPG so you can follow the extra characters.  
The name of the group is "Farscape Epic RPG" and it can be found on Yahoo groups for those who wish to look us up. The game is based in an alternate Farscape universe that diverges from the shows timeline somewhere after Talyn's birth but before the Chiana/D'argo relationship.  
The Berret character here is basically the same Shrike 457 character from the "Fallen Angel" series posted here at Fanfiction.net. Though the original meeting between Chiana and the Shrike took place in a different way in the game.  
The other new characters in this story are original player characters.  
  
Andar Murdough - is a Sebacean teacher from a forgotten and lost colony. Andar's people have lost so much knowledge over the cycles that space flight is considered science fiction. Andar is abducted by aliens who experiment on his brain trying to increase intelligence. The project works much better then they thought and Andar steals a shuttle and eventually finds his way to Moya. Andar becomes a sponge for any sort of knowledge and begins to go through Moya's data banks learning everything he can. He often sees machines or gadgets in his mind and will disappear for days into his workshop to build them.  
  
Malika Phatan - is a 125-year-old Delvian teenager. After spending a number of cycles as a Peacekeeper slave aboard a command carrier, she and her mother escape in a Prowler, but at the cost of the life of a young PK officer who fell in love and secretly married Malika. After a time of running and hiding, the pair run into a Syndicate Shrike and the meeting leaves young Malika with an intense hatred and distrust for the Enforcers when the assassin kills a client Malika took a job bodyguarding for, and almost kills her and her mother in the process. Sometime after that, Malika's mother is tragically killed, leaving the girl alone. She hears a story about an escaped Leviathan with a Delvian Pa'u aboard and sets out to find the living ship with the hopes of fulfilling her mother's dream of her becoming a Pa'u. She finds Moya and Zhaan (who is alive in our game) and the older Delvian agrees to take her in. However, now there is a Shrike aboard Moya as Chiana's companion and she is having a hard time controlling the tendencies for violence she developed during the hard life she lived on the run from the Peacekeepers. Through young, Malika is also a skilled healer and thanks to her parents, an educated student of exobiology. She sets up a small lab on one of Moya's lower tiers, mostly to hide out from having to be around Berret ... and possibly Andar. Both Andar and Malika feel an attraction to each other, but the Delvian isn't sure she wants to open her heart to another after what happened to her Peacekeeper husband.   
  
Sean Crichton - 70 years after the disappearance of astronaut John Crichton, his descendant Sean uses John and DK's research to construct the Wander module. In an attempt to prove that his ancestor's theories were sound, Sean repeats the slingshot effect and is also thrown halfway across the universe only with a slightly different result. The Wander module is somehow draw backward in time to the Farscape module's location and is expelled from a wormhole near Moya. Sean finds himself stunned to be surrounded by a group of aliens and suddenly faced with a family legend.   
  
CHARACTERS CREATED BY CHANT99 FOR THESE STORIES:  
  
Arckatius - The Scarren leader of the Black Syndicate House that enslaved Berret and made him a Shrike Enforcer / Assassin. Arckatius is a distant cousin of Scorpius' and is slightly demented for a Scarren, believing himself to be a "King". In "The Grandmaster", Arckatius sends his Master Shrike, Val'Cirrus after Berret to kill him and bring back his control collar - which contains information about several operations that Berret took part in for the Black Syndicate. Berret has vowed to kill the Scarren Syndicate leader in repayment for his enslavement and the life he feels that Arckatius has destroyed. Driven by the haunting nightmares of the lives he was forced to take as a Syndicate Enforcer, Berret feels that killing Arckatius will go some way in atoning for his "sins." He also holds the Scarren responsible for what he thinks as his inability to love Chiana... and that the Nebari girl could never love him in return because of the things he has done in his Syndicate past.   
  
Grandmaster Zear Shenna - The leader of the mysterious Shrike Clan of Assassin Warriors of legend. A Delvian man over 1600 cycles old, Shenna sometimes appears at when Berret or the crew find themselves needing help. Shenna has an unknown interest in Berret and is somehow able to keep track of him. The crew isn't sure what his agenda is, but so far he seems to genuinely have the group's best interest in heart.  
Grandmaster Shenna revealed some of the true history of the Shrike Clans to Berret and Chiana in "The Grandmaster," where they learned that the Syndicate 'borrowed' the term 'Shrikes' for their assassin Enforcers... playing off the old legends of the ancient warrior / assassin / soldiers to increase the fearsome reputation of their killers.  
  
This story takes place at some point before the events in "Rules Of Engagement," There is no exact timeframe set as of yet, but it does take place in the early cycles of the RPG universe. This story was formally entitled: "Any One Else Want to Negotiate?" The story is still an ongoing work that might take awhile to finish as I have no idea myself what will happen to the crew next - LOL! I'm just as anxious as the next person to find out what happens next. :)  
I thank everyone who has reviewed my stories and has like them. I wasn't sure that they would interest anyone outside my RPG but I see they have. I thank you for the support and I hope I can continue to keep you all interested. Please enjoy~!  
  
Chant99 


	2. Chapter 1

"It is not for you to forgive my sins, that liberation can only come from the gods.  
... And the gods are rarely in a forgiving mood."  
- Dymi Tome of Judgment -   
  
Cassius Zom'Darmarh, regent Sakmahar of the Forth Dymi Tribe, raised his head from where it was resting on one loosely balled fist as first shaman Lokyu entered his tent. The Shaman made a curt bow at the waist and waited for his liege to speak first as was tribe custom.  
"What word, Lokyu?" Cassius asked, attempting to keep the anxiety out of his voice.  
"There is success, my Sakmahar," Lokyu reported.  
The regent sat up straighter in his low chair at the other older man's words. Lokyu was his oldest and most trusted adviser, and a loyal friend to Cassius' family going back to when his father rules the Forth Dymi Tribe. Letting the old Shaman see his apprehension at the news would not cost him any loss of honor with  
Lokyu... the adviser knew his ruler had waited a long time for this positive report.  
"They have been found? It is the one we seek?" Cassius asked.  
"It is, Sire."  
"You're absolutely sure?"  
"There is no doubt. He is with them," responded Lokyu once again.  
Cassius banged one fist on the low table besides him in a display of triumph. Lokyu smiled at the younger man as the worry in his eyes changed to something more resembling hope. It had been a long time since the young ruler spirits had been lifted even this little the Shaman thought to himself.  
"Finally... after over a cycle," Cassius said out loud more to himself then his advisor, "There may be a chance for justice and a way to resolve these dark times that have befallen us." His head snapped up to regard the older man once more. "Has the lure been set? Was the bait taken?"  
Lokyu nodded his head, his loose gray hair falling slight down from under his unfastened farz'haad, the combination headdress and face veil his desert people wore while traveling the vast sands of the world called Jahrodda. Outworlders simply called the desert planet - Forge.  
"The outworlders we seek have been contacted by your off world agents," the Shaman told Cassius. "Just as we suspected, they believed our lure and are now on the way here to seek the device they want."  
"How long until they arrive?" asked the regent.   
Lokyu pursed his lips in thought. "If all goes well and there is no interference by outside forces such as the Peacekeepers or the Syndicate who hunt them... they should be here within three solar days from now. We have some of our people watching the landing facilities in the trading port."  
"And the black marketer, Methos?" Cassius than inquired of the old man.  
"He suspects nothing. He does not know of the visitors' pending arrival nor what they will be looking for," the first shaman told him. "He has a reputation of sometimes being a most difficult man to bargain with... and I have taken the precaution of making sure his key suppliers will be slow in filling his order for the device should they strike a deal. We should be able to keep the outworlders here long enough for us to do what we must."  
Cassius leaned back in his seat and appeared to relax somewhat. A genuine smile graced his thin lips for the first time in ages.  
"You've thought of everything, my old friend," the regent said.  
Lokyu bowed again. "It is my purpose to service my Sakmahar and tribe." The smile the old man returned said that he really considered his help to the younger man more than just his duty.  
Cassius didn't besmirch the shaman's honor by calling attention to the real reasons he worked so hard and long on the plan to lure the outworlders to their homeworld. Lokyu had been just as much a father to Cassius and Tohmaus growing up as had Zorhyha, their natural father and last ruler of the Forth Dymi Tribe. Now Tohmaus, Cassius' younger brother was dead. Cut down dishonorably in the prime of life.  
And as of this moment, the creature responsible for his death was on his way here - to Forge.  
Cassius, Regent of the Forth Dymi Tribe, would see that blood-debt paid no matter what the cost.  
Any other outcome was unacceptable... and to his shame, he privately thought something more precious than family or tribe honor rested on it.  
  
Methos looked across the table at the humanoid male seated there and let a sly grin grace his rough features.  
"What did you say your name was again?" he asked.  
"Cassidy. Butch Cassidy," the light haired man replied.  
"So, Cassidy," Methos said as he leaned back in his chair, "How may I be of service to you?"   
Methos folded his hands in before him as if praying while he waited for the other male to state his business. The man called Cassidy placed both elbows on the table, hands folded with fingers interlocked in front of him in an off-kilter mimic of the black marketeer. He leaned in toward Methos as if he didn't wish anyone else to over hear what he had to say. Not that it would matter much in this place, being that almost every being present in the room was employed by him in one fashion or another.  
"My friends and I would like to purchase a piece of Peacekeeper tech," the man revealed. "I heard you were the man to see about getting the right connections."  
Methos' eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Really? You don't say?" he replied noncommittally. "And exactly what kind of PK tech are we discussing here?"  
"I really don't think you need to know exactly what I want," Cassidy countered, "You just need to introduce me to the right people and collect your fee."  
Methos played with the edge of his empty Raslek glass for a few microts before answering.  
"I'm afraid I do, Mr. Cassidy" he finally said, "Otherwise how will I know how much to charge for my services in sending you in the right direction?"  
Cassidy frowned and set back in his seat to regard the other man for a moment. Methos could see the man debating with himself whether or not to reveal the information to him. The black marketer was a patient being - he could afford to wait until the other man made his decision.   
"All right," Cassidy finally said a micron later, "I'm looking for an exhaust-deresonator."   
Methos eyes lit up. "That's highly illegal tech for a nonmilitary ship, my friend," he said.  
Cassidy nodded his head impatiently.  
"Yeah, yeah, I'm aware of that," Cassidy stated, "Do you know somebody who has one or not?"  
The relaxed smile on Methos' face widen considerably. The only reason somebody would want such a device is because they wanted to cover their tracks and not allow their ship to be tracked over long distances by the law. He sensed a killing in credits to be made for arranging this deal. Only a profitable smuggler would want a device to mask a ship's emission signature - or could afford to buy one!  
"I might know someone," he relented slyly. "However, I'll have to increase my fee for becoming involved in something so... illegal."  
Cassidy's blue eyes narrowed to slits. "Increase by how much?" he asked.  
"Triple my usual price."  
Cassidy snorted, gave a small knowing smile, and then shook his head.  
"I'll give you half again your usual payment and no more," the man counter offered.  
Methos grin broadened and his eyes twinkled in amusement. He gave Cassidy credit for trying to bargain, but this was his place and his rules. Surely the man had to know that the dark tavern was full of his men besides the two and a half drec tall bodyguard standing directly behind his seat. Methos chose to do his business at the table in the rear corner of the rundown Saloon, with his back to the wall. The black marketeer himself sat facing the main room where he could see everything including the front entrance and anyone who came into the tavern. The location also forced the other man to sit in the less advantaged position of having his back turned to it.  
"Surely, my friend... you realize that this is not a negotiation?" Methos asked.   
"No," responded Cassidy, "Its what I like to call an eema frelling."  
Methos spread his hands wide as if to proclaim he was powerless to change the manner of things. "It is what it is," he told the man across from him. "It is the nature of my business."  
Cassidy nodded his head in agreement. "Well, in that case... I guess we'll look elsewhere for our goods."  
"You will find nowhere else to look," Methos replied with a confident smile.  
"We'll see," said Cassidy as he started to stand up to leave.  
"Just one microt, my friend," the black marketer interrupted. "There is the small matter of a tiny service charge for my time you've used."  
"You've got to be joking?"  
"Indeed, I am not," Methos replied.  
Cassidy gave a small snicker. "You expect me to pay you for trying to screw me?" he asked. "I usually expect dinner first before someone frells me."  
"I'm a busy man, Cassidy. Time is money. You can pay me now and then you may leave. When you come back to deal with me, and you will come back if you want the deresonator, you will again pay another fee for my time."  
Cassidy stunned the other man by barking another quick laugh and saying, "Not a chance, Bucko!"  
Methos' smile rapidly turned to an annoyed frown. "Perhaps you haven't been paying attention to where you are? My men surround you and you won't leave here until I decide to let you leave. I suggest you pay the fee now before I double the price as a penalty for being an irritation."  
Cassidy's smirk turned dark as he bent over closer to Methos.  
"Tell me," he drawled, "Do you think... you're a bad man? A real hard case?"  
The statement was odd, but Methos caught the gist of it. "I can assure you, I am a bad man," the criminal replied. He bared his teeth at Cassidy in a feral grin of his own. "I am the last 'bad man' you want to cross."  
Cassidy straightened up and his look turned wicked. As if he were enjoying a joke that Methos had yet to understand.   
"I don't think you're as bad as you think you are," Cassidy said casually. " 'Ret... tell Doctor Strangelove who's bad."  
A dark shape moved into Methos' peripheral vision from the rear and someone thrust an armor-covered fist in front of his face.  
"I... am bad," said a graveyard voice from behind Methos and twin serrated blades shot out over the metal covered fist with a loud steel-on-steel hiss, the closest edge of the nearest blade being only a few henta from his chin. His eyes traveled up the metal-sheathed arm to settle on the nearly soulless eyes of a cloaked draped male humanoid standing behind him. He had no idea how the man had come to be there and he anxiously wondered what had happened to his bodyguard. Metho's found the tall guard crumbled up unconscious in the corner behind them after a quick search of the room with his eyes. Somehow, the cloaked man had not only managed to get behind them, but had also taken out the huge Cryrillian mercenary he'd hired without making a sound to alert anyone.   
"Your comrade is somewhat... indisposed at the moment," the man with the blades said.  
Methos turned back to Cassidy who had sat back down with a satisfied smile. The black marketer wondered why the rest of his men hadn't come to his aid yet - a quick peek over Cassidy's shoulder told him the rest of the story in an instant.  
  
The Nebari tralk that had wandered into the tavern shortly before the meeting was sitting at his back-up man's table with a silver palm pulse pistol dug in under the guard's chin. The short-barreled gun forced the man's head back at an uncomfortable angle and the gray girl seemed bored with the happenings as she casually continued to drink from her glass with her free hand. The Nebari woman saw Methos' gaze on her and she gave him a small evil grin accompanied with a dark chuckle in return.  
At the bar, another younger Sebacean man who resembled Cassidy in a way had the barkeep and several other customers covered with a Peacekeeper pulse pistol in each hand. Across the room, a woman with long midnight hair and a long overcoat had taken to standing on the top of a table and had the rest of the room covered with an automatic pulse rifle she pulled out from under the coat.   
The front door suddenly swung open and his watchman who covered the street in front of the place was roughly pushed into the Inn followed by another Sebacean man armed with a second pulse rifle and a Delvian girl twirling a large knife around the fingers of one slim hand. Slung low on her hip, Methos caught a glimpse of a holstered pulse gun under her coat. Just when he thought things couldn't get any worse, the back door burst wide open and a huge Luxan strode in with the unconscious body of the man who guarded the back alley slung over one broad shoulder. The warrior dumped the man unceremoniously on the floor by the Cryrillian and walked over to Cassidy.  
"That's all of them," the Luxan rumbled to the humanoid.  
Cassidy tilted his head and regarded Methos. "Looks like things have taken a turn into the crapper," he said.  
"This changes nothing," the black marketer replied stubbornly. "You all can't stay here keeping everyone at gunpoint forever."  
"I don't think we'll have too," answered the man called Cassidy with a smile. "How we doin', Sundance?" he called out.  
"Everything is under control here," replied the dark-haired woman. "Just give the word." She emphasized the statement by pointing her weapon at the nearest man.  
"Pip? Sing out," Cassidy said next.  
The Nebari girl reached over and took the back-up man's drink from him. "Other then the cheap Raslek, I'm ready for some fun," she purred and then sipped at his mug.  
"Flash Gordon? Heavy Dee?"  
The Luxan had unfolded his Qualta blade into a rifle. "Who do you want me to kill first?" the warrior growled out.  
"Everything's cool, Daddy-O," answered the armed man at the bar.  
"Yo, Teach! Blue Jr.?"  
The Sebacean man with the pulse rifle swung his weapon around to cover the room.   
"We are ready to commence the mayhem at your whim, Mr. Cassidy," he said in a highly cultured voice that was at odds with his unshaven rogue appearance.  
"Yes, I need a new ear necklace," put in the blue woman who had taken out her pulse weapon.   
The man besides her did a double taken, and unseen to the rest of the room mouthed, "Ears?" in question.  
The Delvian girl slightly shrugged her shoulders and gave him a tiny smile and twirled the knife once again in her free hand.  
  
Cassidy turned his attention back to the table he was at and Methos.  
"Mr. Sandman... a demonstration if you will," he said.   
The cloaked man gave Cassidy a small nodded and the blades on his forearm flashed down and back up at the empty Raslek glass sitting on the table in front of Methos.  
Instead of shattering from the impact, it looked as if the man had missed his target.   
Until the glass suddenly split in two lengthwise and the halves fell over.  
Metho's stared opened mouth at the destroyed drinking container, he didn't know of anything sharp enough to cut glass that fast without breaking it. He found himself shuttering at what the blades would do to flesh if the cloaked man decided to use them on him.  
"Now," said Cassidy, "I think we have an understanding of the current situation. If not, I'll give you a few more microts to think it over again. But I have to be honest with you... my friend with the Ginsus on his arms is not as understanding as I am... nor as patient."  
Methos looked up again at the silent man behind him and saw his emotionless face. He turned back to Cassidy.  
"It seems I have no other option," he admitted.  
"No, not really," agreed Cassidy. "But I'm a fair man so I'll tell you what. To show there are no hard feelings - my original offer still stands. Half again your usual fee if you send us to the right people."  
Methos looked about the Inn at the armed collection of beings who had so easily out-maneuvered his people. It didn't take him very long to decide that this was a group of people he didn't want to end up on the bad side of. Besides, perhaps there just might be a chance to do business with this Cassidy again sometime. A party who needs covert military tech to do business just might need other things in the future - things he could provide. It may turn out to be more profit for him down the road if he gave in a bit this time. He turned his attention back to the waiting man at the table.  
"Mr. Cassidy... it appears you and your associates have made a deal."  
  
Some arns later, Chiana frowned and upturned her boot. The grimace on her black lips increased as pale tan sand continued to cascade from her footwear, building a pile of grit on the tavern's tabletop.  
"Why's there gotta' be so much frelling sand on this eema-backwards planet?" she asked the group around her. "And why can't we have gone somewhere nicer?"  
"Because this is where the man with the magic connections is, Pip," John Crichton told the Nebari.  
The human took a drink from the bottle in his hand and leaned his chair back up against the wall behind him. After making contact with the black marketeer, Methos, the group had retreated to a much more upscale refreshment house to wait for Methos to contact them when he'd found what they were looking for. Even though the Inn was in a better area, the crewmates were still on guard for trouble or betrayal.  
D'argo watched what Chiana was doing, rolled his eyes and scowled.  
"And why do you have to empty your boots out on the table?" he asked in his familiar rumble.  
The gray girl shrugged her shoulder and replaced her boot. Besides her, Berret sighed lightly to himself. Chiana was bored here on the desert world and she was looking for ways to entertain herself by annoying her crewmates.  
"Ugh!" Sean Crichton broke in as he made a twisted face at the beverage in his hand, "I wanna know why everything here is lukewarm?"  
"Probably because the natives of this world are by tradition nomadic... and had no way to transport refrigeration units even after they invented them," supplied Andar. "Warm drinks have become a custom and way of life here."  
Malika smiled as the Sebacean man explained this theory.  
"They would probably make the same face you just did if you handed them a cold Fellip Nectar," she added.  
"I'd settle for even one of them right now, you'd think they'd chill them for visitors though?" Sean shot back. "Hey, Chiana! Since we got plenty of sun and sand, wanna go out and work on our tans in a while?" The younger human quipped the remark with a sly bob of eyebrows.  
"Nebari don't tan," the girl replied matter-of-factly from across the table.  
"They don't? Bummer," Sean said. "I use to love laying out on the beach in Malibu."  
"I use to love the surf in Waikiki," John reminisced. He glanced over at the cloaked and armored Shrike. "J.B., aren't you hot in all that?"  
"No," replied the ex-assassin simply. And indeed the Shrike didn't seem to be bothered by the heat as the rest of the group was. John concluded it must be something in his augmented microbes that kept him comfortable while wearing his Enforcer garb.  
Crichton then shrugged. "Well... it's a hopeless thought anyway, Sean. We got plenty of sand but the nearest large bodies of water are near the polar icecaps."  
"So much for surfing," Sean concluded and shot the cap from his bottle across the table with a snap from a fingertip. Idly Berret snatched it out of the air as it passed by his shoulder. He absently inspected the bottle top and then tossed it away.  
"Well, you still have plenty of the sun and sand part," cooed Chiana mischievously. "Maybe you can talk Berret into sunbathing with you?" She glanced out of the sides of her eyes for her friend's reaction to the comment.  
"I think not," Berret replied before Sean could also voice a veto to the idea.  
"But you could use a little color," she teased.  
"So could you," he countered straight faced.  
The Nebari chuckled and stuck out her tongue. Berret was getting better at his comebacks she was pleased to see. She took a drink of her tepid beverage and noticed one of the serving girls giving Berret a shy glance out of the corner of her eyes as she walked passed the group. The Nebari had noticed the young girl's attention of the Shrike sometime earlier and as usual; Berret seemed to be oblivious to what was right in front of his nose. She decided to have some more fun at the ex-Enforcer's expense.  
Chiana prodded him in the arm and when she had Berret's attention, pointed the waitress out to him.  
"Somebody's had their eye on you since we walked in," she cooed.  
Berret followed her glance and inspected the girl with his usual emotionless gaze.  
"She is a server," the Shrike replied as he turned back, "It is her function to be aware of her customer's needs."  
Chiana shook her head, barely containing the smirk at having set Berret up so easily.  
"Uh-ah, a girl can tell," she teased, "She has the weegees for you, my boy."  
Berret frowned as he realized Chiana was playing at tormenting him once again.  
"You are mistaken," he told her tonelessly. Refusing to rise to her baiting.  
"No, I'm not," Chiana insisted with a grin. "Why don't you go over and talk to her and find out for yourself if I'm right."  
"I think not. If you are so interested in her, why don't you go over 'yourself' and talk to her," Berret countered. The Shrike secretly congratulated himself on daftly turning the tables on the small Nebari female.  
Chiana placed one gloved forefinger against her cheek in thought and twisted her lips up in concentration.  
"You know..." she said a few microts later, "She is kind of cute. Maybe I will."  
She turned to look back at Berret with a purely straight look on her pretty face. The Shrike returned the gesture with one of sudden befuddlement. Across the table from them, Andar hid a developing grin behind one closed fist as he watched the interplay between the ex-assassin and Nebari thief.  
Berret narrowed his eyes as he waited for Chiana's facade to breakdown. But it was soon apparent that the gray girl was going to outlast his patience with the situation.  
"You are incorrigible," the Shrike finally said. "Its there nothing that you won't do?" he asked.  
Chiana again screwed up her full black lips as if considering the question seriously. A moment later she leaned in close and began whispering in Berret's ear.  
As she spoke, the expression on Berret's face turned from one of eye-opening surprise to out right repulsion.  
"That IS disgusting," he said as he pulled away from the girl, "Even for Rygel!"  
Chiana reached for her drink with a growing evil smile.  
"That's why I wouldn't do it," she said. She turned her head away from Berret slightly and gave the watching Andar a sly wink of one eye.  
Despite himself, the Sebacean man began to snicker. Berret seemed to notice for the first time that the ex-teacher had been an audience to Chiana and his discussion.  
"What are you laughing at?" Berret asked the other man. Andar had been around the Shrike long enough now to be able to tell the subtle differences in his toneless voice. Someone else might have thought the ex-assassin's question to have been directed at him with an underlying menace for laughing at the Shrike. Andar could tell that his shipmate was more annoyed with having been toyed with by his gray companion. Still it was part of the ever-ongoing game to appear chastised at being caught enjoying Chiana's sport, so he dutifully held up one appeasing hand.  
"Who me?" Andar asked innocently, "Nothing, nothing at all." He cut off his chuckle by pretending to cover a cough with fist.  
Berret grimaced even further, but then appeared to decide it wasn't worth the effort to keep up the charade and let his face slide back into its normal emotionless state. It appeared Chiana was going to have to find her fun elsewhere. The gray girl didn't seem to mind that her friend stopped playing and turned her attention to another topic.  
"We sure did a number on that Methos guy," she said to the table-at-large. "Did you see the look on that frennik's face when I stuck my pistol between his third and forth chin."  
"He had only one chin," Berret interrupted to correct idly.  
"You're messing up a good drinking story," Chiana responded sourly to the Shrike. "I was up close to him, he had more flab than Rygel. Even the hand he was running up and down my leg had a couple of extra chins on it."  
"I'm sure he did," added in Aeryn in somewhat uncharacteristic humor.  
The Nebari girl smiled at having the ex-Peacekeeper vindicate her version of the tale. Seeing he wasn't going to win a debate about how many chins Chiana's man actually had, Berret heaved a light sigh and gave up.  
"As you wish," he mumbled.  
Sean guffawed outright, while John grinned openly at the ex-assassin's perplexity. The older Crichton decided that since the gray girl had brought up the meeting with the Black Marketer, he could ask the Shrike a question he'd been wondering about, seeing he missed some things that had taken place in the room while his attention was focused solely on Methos.  
"How did you get behind that monster of a bodyguard without anyone seeing or hearing you?" he asked Berret. In return, the ex-Enforcer looked at the human as if the answer to his inquiry should have been very obvious.   
"I walked," came the reply.  
It was Crichton's turn to blink at the other man. Chiana watched the exchange with an ever-widening smirk on her lips. Finally she couldn't hold in the laughter any longer as both men continued to look at each other, both apparently waiting for the other to ask another foolish question.  
"That's my boy," she giggled out. "Never give up a secret and always leave them wondering."  
Berret turned his quizzical look at his gray companion and wondered what she found so amusing. There was no 'secret' as far as he was concerned. How he neutralized the bodyguard should have been plainly evident to anyone who had been present and paying attention. The look he gave her seemed to amuse the Nebari female even more. Chiana turned back to the rest of the table and teased,  
"Retty would make a very talented burglar."   
"I would not!" Berret protested, but no one seemed to have heard him over the scattered laughter at the table.  
"You should know, Chiana," Malika said with just a little bit of serious bit in the remark. She still wasn't completely sure how she felt about the Nebari girl... and it didn't help matters much that two solar days out from the planet they were now on, she discovered that Chiana had snurched several items from her quarters. The resulting altercation had almost resulted in blows, and would have if the rest of the crew hadn't separated the pair and made them go to different ends of Moya until they cooled off.  
The Nebari narrowed her dark eyes and the smile on her face turned sly with a tone of sarcasm.  
"After your performance today, I wouldn't talk," she said with a snide tilt of head.  
"What's that suppose to mean?" the young Delvian half-growled back, getting ready to rise from her seat. Andar's eyes shot open large at Malika's tone. "Uh-oh, here we go again," he muttered.  
Chiana's eyes abruptly twinkled with merry laughter and her grin turned back into a good-natured one.  
"Ears?" she asked in giddy joviality.   
Not even Malika could keep a straight face after being reminded. 


	3. Chapter 2

Rygel moved his Hoverthrone about the cramped confines of the Transport Pod aimlessly, all the while muttering to himself in ever growing irritation.  
Finally, he floated over to the pilot's station and stabbed at a control stud with one stubby finger.  
"Pilot! PILOT!" he demanded as a comm channel to the orbiting Leviathan opened. "I'm bored!" he announced.  
A microt later, Moya's helmsman shimmered into view on a small holo tank.  
"I am sorry about your ennui, Dominar Rygel," Pilot apologized. "But there is nothing neither Moya or I can do about it at the moment."  
"Well, I am sick of sitting here," the Hynerian replied. "I am going out... there has to be some type of gambling entertainment on flark-hole of a sandpit."  
"The others wanted you to stay and watch the Pod, Rygel," Pilot added. "They will not be happy if you leave it unguarded."  
"Well that's frelling too bad for them," Rygel replied stubbornly. "Tell them I'll be back when I'm good and ready... and that they better not leave without me."  
"Rygel! I think..." Pilot began to say until Rygel flicked the comm link off.  
The Hynerian ruler floated his chair over to the hatchway. He was just about to exit when he recalled Aeryn's warning about his Hoverthrone's gravity mechanism being susceptible to being clogged with sand very quickly. His only option if he wanted to keep the device in good condition was to leave it behind in the Transport Pod.  
The Dominar almost gave up on the idea of finding some entertainment if it meant actually having to walk anywhere, but then he decided he couldn't take being cooped up in the Pod alone for much longer.  
Besides, he should be able to find a pheasant or two to carry him around in a sedan chair for a few krendar.   
  
He hopped from his throne and a few microts latter had secured the Pod. He made his way across what served the city as a spaceport, which had more sand then any kind of paving or walkways.  
Rygel hadn't taken one fact about the sand into account when he left the ship - it was hot!  
The soles of his bare feet were roasting and he quickened his pace toward the nearest building. He cursed rancorously as he almost ran. If he didn't find sedan bearers soon, he was going to be forced to search for some kind of footwear, and he didn't hold out much of a chance on finding anything small enough to fit him.   
The few people out in the mid-day sun mostly ignored the Hynerian, even when he ranted at them to get out of his way. He almost made it to the sanctuary of the building and it's shaded walkway when a couple of pair of worn tan boots suddenly blocked his way.  
"Move! Damn you, you backwater savages!" Rygel exclaimed.  
The boots just remained there and the small being suddenly got the feeling he might be in trouble.  
Rygel looked upward, having to shield his eyes from the glaring sun that was positioned just over the two forms' heads. Shading his eyes, he could make out cloth swathed heads of the beings blocking him. Only their weathered eyes showed through the split between turban-like head wrap and the face veils.  
And the eyes didn't look friendly in the least.  
Rygel swallowed hard and forgetting his burning feet for a moment, began to back away.  
"Er, Crichton..." he choked and then realized he needed to active his comm badge before calling for help.  
He was just making a futile reach for it when the two desert-garbed beings lunged down in unison to seize him.   
  
The crew on the planet's surface had just finished a reasonably palatable lunch when Moya's helmsman commed them.  
"Yeah, what is it, Pilot?" asked the elder Crichton as he pushed an empty platter away from him.  
"My apologizes," answered Pilot, "But Moya and I regret to inform you that Rygel has abandoned his post on the Transport Pod. We would have informed Zhaan first, but she is locked in her quarters meditating."  
"Is there trouble?" asked D'argo.  
"No..." came the reply. "He simply said he was bored and he does not answer his comm."  
"Relax, Pilot," said John, "Its not the first time Buckwheat got a bug up his ass and baled on us."  
Sean sneered and asked, "So where did Spud-boy the sixteenth say he was going?"  
The exasperation in Pilot's voice was almost thick enough to cut with a knife.   
"He claimed he was going to look for... entertainment."  
It was Chiana's turn to snicker and smirk.  
"Entertainment... as in gambling," she said.  
"Correct," confirmed Pilot.  
"Well, at least somebody's got the right idea," the Nebari continued. "I say we join him."  
Aeryn shot the idea down. "Never mind that," she broke in. "Pilot, when did you lose contact with him?"  
"About thirty microns ago."  
"Okay, Pilot... we're on it," John said and then closed the comm link to the Leviathan. "Come on, troops. Lets go round ole Spanky up before he loses the farm on us."  
"Do we have too?" asked Malika.  
"I find myself having to agree with that sentiment," added Andar.  
The older Crichton made a harried sigh. "I'm afraid we do," he replied. "One for all and all to kick Rygel's ass when we get him back to Moya, and all that."  
"That part I like," added the Delvian girl.  
Just as the human rose to his feet from his seat, he turned and noticed two of the desert dwellers standing in front of their table, gazing at the group with their full attention.  
John's sudden pause brought the pair to the group's notice also and hands began to edge toward weapons.  
"There will be no need to search for your tribe mate," one of the two abruptly informed them. "We have taken him."  
  
"What do you mean?" demanded Crichton as he came all the way to his feet. Behind him, he heard several chairs scraping the floor as the others got up behind him. Someone came up directly behind him and he knew without looking that it was Aeryn, guarding his back and using his body to block the view of the intruders to the fact that she had her pulse rifle in her hand and ready to swing up into action.  
A few muffled boot steps told him the others were fanning out, taking up positions to fight from.  
"By 'tribe mate,' I assume you're referring to our missing Hynerian friend?" he asked next.  
The desert man on the left nodded and held up a gold colored object. It was a comm badge from Moya and the group had no doubt that it belong to Rygel. D'argo hissed in growing fury at the sight of it.  
"Your friend is unharmed and we offer 'shade truce' if you will honor it, outworlders."  
"Shade truce?" asked Malika with one hand on knife hilt, but her pistol already in her other hand held down at her side.  
Both robed beings nodded. "We pledge to do no harm or breath false word to you if you agree to honor the same while the shade truce stands between us," explained one.  
"We have no wish to harm your tribe mate or any of you," added the other man.  
"Then what do you want?" asked John.  
"Our Sakmahar wishes counsel with your Sakmahar," replied the taller one who seemed to be the leader of the pair. At the blank looks they received at the unfamiliar term, he reiterated, "Our chieftain wishes a word with your chieftain or leader."   
"You had to kidnap Rygel for that?" asked D'argo. Both desert dwellers remained silent to the comment.  
"What happens if we decide not to go?" asked Crichton next.  
Both man gave each other a quick glance, and then the taller one spoke again.  
"Then regrettably the shade truce will dissolve... and your tribe mate might be killed."  
"You're not leaving us much of an option," said Sean with growing indignation.  
"You have our Sakmahar's holy word of honor that none of your tribe will be harmed and that all will be free to leave unmolested after you speak... should you all chose."  
D'argo eased his Qualta rifle upwards a little more in the pair's direction.  
"You'll forgive me if I give your Sakmahar's holy word the trust its due... none at all," rumbled the Luxan.   
"Frelling right!" added Chiana, nervously fingering her palm pistol and darting her eyes around the room looking for any other sign of threats.  
  
"No, no... hold on," Andar broke in. "I did some research into this world's cultures before we made planet fall. Moya's Peacekeeper data banks had an extensive history and profile for this world. The desert tribes are noted for their extreme adherence to their codes and system of honor. The shade truce is not given lightly, even to an enemy, and most desert dwellers would rather die than break it for any reason."  
"There's always a first time," muttered Sean.  
"Yeah, and the first time always happens to us," put in the Nebari girl.  
Andar ignored the other two, even though he plainly heard the comments. Instead he went on to the pair of desert men before them.  
"What tribe are you from and where do you share shade and water?" the ex-Teacher asked.  
The taller man again answered.  
"We are of the Forth Dymi. We share shade and water on the Domescus Reaches, west of the twin valleys."  
Andar searched his memory and quickly found the name.  
"One of the Great Seven Tribes of the True Nation?" he asked.  
The big desert man smiled at the outworlder's knowledge and both men seemed to stand a bit taller now that someone from off world had recognized their tribe.  
"Yes, outworlder," confirmed the tall man who seemed to be leader, "Under the great Sakmahar Cassius Zom'Darmarh... long may his line guide us across the sands."  
"What's that all mean, Teach?" asked the elder human. Andar turned to look at John.  
"It means I think we can trust them to do exactly what they say they will," replied the Sebacean man.  
John frowned as he regarded the robed desert men, still with obvious mistrust.  
"Still... its not like we have much of a choice if we want Rygel back," he said. "All right, we'll go with you to see what your head honcho wants with us, and agree to your truce. But I promise you... any funny business, anything hincky at all... and you're going to wish you never laid eyes on any of us."  
Besides Berret, Chiana moaned under her breath, "I was afraid he'd decide that."  
The Shrike allowed a momentary frown to grace his features. In his own opinion the crew was better off without the Hynerian who could rarely be trusted at best. Still, he owned the others to stand with them with whatever they decided to do about the missing Dominar. Even if he hadn't feel an obligation of his own; despite her muttered protest, Chiana had made no move to leave the group or urge the others to abandon the Hynerian to his fate. For that reason alone he would have stayed.  
The frowned faded almost as quickly as it came, the ever-present emotionless veneer slipping back into place; he marched forward behind the others as they unenthusiastically followed their two guides.  
  
The crewmates were led a short distance away from the Inn and politely asked to board a waiting sandtruck. The desert vehicle was old and weather battered, sandstorms having blasted most of the paint off the machine, leaving it a tan sand-like color itself. The floor of the bed of the truck rose up to shoulder height on D'argo; to allow for the massive caterpillar tracks that the vehicle traveled over the dunes on.  
Even with a fold-up step, Berret still had to boost up the shorter Chiana so she could make it onto the tarp-covered bed section of the sandtruck. As soon as all were aboard, the machine started up and headed out into the desert, steered by an unseen driver in the shielded box-like cab of the conveyance. Crichton stood up to peer over the truck's cab at where they were going, but could see no visible sign of a road anywhere ahead of them. Idly he wondered how the driver knew which way to go and decided the vehicle was probably relying on a GPS type of system for guidance.  
As soon as they were on their way, their two guides introduced themselves, the taller and leader named himself Yurrek and the shortest of the pair, Tezlmin. The pair of desert folk explained that while the tribes themselves used little in the way of technology, the sandtruck's services had been secured for the sole purpose of transporting them to their meeting in as much comfort as possible.   
Sean grumbled that the hard plastic-like bench seat under his behind was far from close to being comfortable. Despite the situation, the Delvian girl across from the human couldn't help but grin at the younger Crichton's gripping. She herself not having fauna-like flesh to be bruised, handled the bumpy ride with little mishap. Sean caught Malika's grin and returned a nasty sneer of his own... that made the blue girl grin even harder. The younger human made a mental note the next time the group dinned together at a refreshment house, to order the biggest salad on the menu. Then he began to store away as many off-color flora and vegetable based barbs and comments that he could think of for later use. There were several types of fruits and vegetables he'd found he'd like since arriving... in his mind's eye he saw himself asking Malika if one of them were a relative as he peeled it.  
John might call it childish... he preferred to think of it as creative retaliation.  
Sean abruptly smiled at his mischievous planning and like an opposite mirror image the grin on Malika's face faded as she wondered what the human had found so amusing all of a sudden.  
Past experience with the other human led her to believe it don't bode well.  
  
The two Sebaceans of the group handled the ride well. Andar having grown up on a relatively non-tech world was use to archaic modes of travel, and to Aeryn it could have been one of any number of military land vehicles she had traveled in over her career as a Peacekeeper.  
Chiana on the other hand, with even less physical padding than Sean, was not finding it a pleasant adventure to say the least. The normally energizing Nebari female looked less than happy with the bouncing she was taking. After a few microns of trying to keep her seat, she gave up and simply dropped herself into Berret's lap.  
Even with the armor plates sheathing the Shrike's limbs, her new position was much more comfortable on her delicate areas. Berret regarded her change of seating with only mild interest and no comments. Almost as if he took for granted that she had a right to be there.  
Still, Chiana liked the fact that the Shrike didn't take her presumption as an intrusion on his personal space. He accepted her without pause, where he still kept everyone else at arm's length. In the short time since Moya's crew picked up its new members, she found she liked having a new person aboard who was more or less loyal to her.   
She slung an arm around the ex-Enforcer's neck to study herself. The gray girl couldn't help but keep looking back at the two robed men who had detained them with Rygel's abduction. In her other hand, and draped across one knee, she realized she had taken out her palm pulse pistol once more without thinking about it. Her survival instincts had kicked into high mode and she was becoming more edgy by the microt.  
  
"What do you think this Sakmahar guy wants?" Chiana whisper as she tilted her head closer to the former Syndicate assassin.  
Berret shifted ice-colored eyes over to Telzmin and Yurrek. Neither of the men seemed to be paying much attention to the rest of the crewmates and both were busy answering questions John had been putting to them. And by the disapproving look on Crichton's face, the answers he was receiving from the pair, Berret concluded were very vague.  
"I do not know," the Shrike answered the girl a moment later. "But there is something I find anomalous in their behavior."  
"What?" Chiana asked, interested in what the man might have observed.  
Berret turned his dead gaze back at the Nebari. Others might have flinched away from the soulless eyes, Chiana found them oddly reassuring. They were somehow as steadfast as D'argo was dependable... and in some ways those qualities in both her male crewmates made her feel a little safer.  
"The pair of them rarely looks at any of us except for John Crichton," Berret went on to explain. "I find that very strange for a person facing possible multiple enemies."  
Chiana turned a frown that wrinkled her forehead.  
"Now that you mention it... I think you're right. I don't remember either of them looking any of the rest of us over for too long," the gray girl commented.  
"No... they did not," the Shrike added with a dark frown of his own.  
Chiana tapped the muzzle of her gun against her kneecap as she thought.  
"Do you suppose its some sort of cultural taboo?" she asked. "Or maybe it's meant as an insult? Its not a very good one if it is."  
"No, it was too much like a forced unnatural action. The few times they glanced at someone beside Crichton, they steer their eyes away too quickly," Berret deliberated with her.  
Chiana turned to look him fully in the face, more to hide that they were having a serious discussion from the two desert men in case they might have been watching the crew from the corner of their eyes. If they did happen to notice, she'd hoped that they would just think she was taking a moment to flirt or hold a brief intimate conversation with the dark-haired Shrike.  
"Then they're hiding something important?" she asked him with growing excitement and concern.  
Berret considered the idea and then turned it aside as he sought a better fitting explanation.  
"It seemed to me... it is more like being overly cautious and trying not to give something away," he finally said.  
Chiana bit her lower lip and shot a quick look back at the men under assessment. The exact phrasing to express the sensation picking at her nerves had eluded her until Berret stumbled upon it. Now that he had found the words, they exactly described the nagging feeling she'd been having. The desert men's eyes said they were concealing something... and they were doing their best to hide any clues.  
  
Roughly about an arn later the sandtruck rumbled up to a pastoral village of tents scattered out over several gentle dunes. Their guides requested that they dismount from the vehicle. As the crew more than gladly followed the direction, they noticed a smaller dune vehicle parked not to far away from their own transport.  
John shielded his eyes from the sun's glare and glanced at D'argo. He saw that the Luxan was having the same thoughts as he about the other vehicle. The tall warrior casually brushed a hand up against the machine as Tezlmin and Yurrek led them passed it and toward the largest tent in the village.   
John raised an eyebrow in enquiry as he slipped a pair of the dark glass occulars that he'd found in Moya's stores as the taller being moved up besides him. The tinted devices were close to what humans would call sunglasses. Sean and Andar each already had a pair on, while Aeryn stubbornly refused to impend her vision with them while there was a chance of combat. D'argo, Chiana and the Delvians seemed unaffected with the bright sunlight, while Berret's enhanced eyes had turned silver as they protected him from the sun.  
"The engine compartment is barely warm," D'argo reported lowly. "Probably arrived no more than three-quarters of an arn before us."  
"That's the buggy they brought Rygel in then, you think?"  
The Luxan nodded. "That would be my guess," he confirmed.  
John bit his lower lip briefly and than tilted his chin in agreement. "Probably made much better time than we did in the truck," he added. Without speaking further, he discreetly half-turned to Sean behind and tapped his wrist chron.  
The younger Crichton barely moved his head in acknowledgement at the signal, and then passed it on to the Sebacean man and Delvian teenager behind him. The signal to be on-guard and ready for instant action passed all the way back through the crew members until it reach Aeryn and Berret at the rear of the group.  
Strangely, neither desert man had demanded that the any of them surrender their weapons. Just as Andar had claimed, their agreement to abide by the shade truce seemed to have been assurance enough for the pair of guides. Part of Crichton almost regretted being willing to use violence against these people to get Rygel back. Normally without question, he would have expected a trick. But his gut feeling was that these people were on the straight and narrow as far as their promise not to harm any of them while the truce held.   
His father, Jack Crichton, has always told him to follow his instincts and they would rarely lead him wrong. That, he learned the hard way countless times, was hard to do out here in the Territories.  
  
They reach the huge tent that was their obvious destination. Outside the abode, two more desert dwellers armed with sheathed swords and antique looking pulse rifles guarded the tent. The guards wore full desert travel gear and had their faces veiled even though there was no wind or blowing sand.  
The elder Crichton wondered briefly how they stood the heat in the garments, but concluded the material probably had a cooling quality like silk did.  
The few villagers the group had passed, had silently watched them stroll by and then went back to whatever chore they were in the middle of. No one made a sound, called a greeting, or inquired as to the visitors' purpose in the community.  
"Frelling weird," Chiana had remarked on their walk. "Not a peep out of anyone."  
"Yeah," agreed Sean. "And no children... or dogs. Where are the kids and dogs? There should be some around playing."  
"Dogs?" asked Chiana. Sean realized that there might not be a canine type of animal in the Territories or that it was known by another name.  
"Pets... or animals that can be used as extra guards or to herd livestock animals," the human amended.  
"Oh! You mean like Narburrnox!" Chiana exclaimed in understanding. "Yeah, that is kind of strange now that you mention it."  
Berret broke in from behind them in a bland tone.  
"The younger tribe members and most of the other older ones were probably ordered to stay under cover while we were present," the Shrike reasoned, "In order to not reveal to us their true numbers."  
"Likewise, they are keeping their animal sentries hidden so we will not be able to calculate the extent of their security measures as well," Aeryn added. "A wise tactical maneuver."   
"I would also assume the people we do see are part of their current security measures should we chose to leave before they are willing to let us," Berret continued.  
"Just frelling lovely," Chiana grumbled.  
"Yeah, just peachy," Sean said while fingering the grip of one of his pulse pistols at his thigh. All the while wishing he had his slug throwers with him, but he had to leave his Earth sidearms back on Moya, as they were low on ammo until he could make some.  
  
The group was permitted to pass by the guards without hindrance.   
Inside the tent, it was surprisingly cool and John and the group heaved a sigh of relief to be out from under the blaring sunlight. Even the normally imperturbable Shrike seemed to be glad to be out of the glare as his eyes faded back to their usual pale blue color.  
'This way," requested Yurrek, "Our Sakmahar is already waiting to receive you."  
"Good," said John as he put away his sun occulars. "Lets find out what he wants and get this over with."  
The pair of desert men led them through a short hallway made of the same tent material into a larger chamber. Once inside they heard voices.  
The crewmates entered into the ruler's presence only to find that one of the voices they'd heard belonged to the captured Rygel. D'argo frowned deeply when he realized that the Hynerian was reclining leisurely on plush pillows besides a handsome desert man, and shoveling some sort of native cuisine into his mouth.  
The Dominar seemed to be enjoying some amusing antidote with his host and neither males noticed the group's arrive until both Tezlmin and Yurrek rushed over and knelt to the man next to Rygel.  
"We have brought the outworlders as instructed, my liege," Tezlmin announced respectfully.  
The man Crichton guessed was Cassius the Sakmahar looked up and examined the comrades.  
Rygel perked up himself at the sight of them.  
"Friends!" the small being belted out joyfully. "I'm so glad you finally made it!"  
John strode forward until he stood directly in front of the pair.  
"Not like we had much of a choice, Ryg," the human drawled. "You okay?"  
"Okay?" Rygel repeated somewhat amused. "I'm more than just okay. I've been treated stupendously! Like royalty... like a Dominar. They've catered to my every whim."   
"How charming," Crichton replied with some sarcasm. He then turned his attention to the man beside the Hynerian ruler.  
"I assure you, no harm has come to your Dominar," the tribal ruler told them.  
"He's not our Dominar." John corrected dryly. He knew from experience there was no telling what story Rygel might have given the man. It was best to set things straight right away.  
"Your companion then," the man corrected gracefully. "I am Cassius Zom'Darmarh, Sakmahar of the Forth Dymi Tribe." The ruler stood from his low chair and made a short bow in greeting.  
Crichton tucked both thumbs into his gun belt near the buckle and strived for a relaxed casual appearance while returning the somewhat formal greeting with a nod of his head.  
Aeryn had taken up a position on his right and Berret on his left. The ex-soldier had her pulse rifle ready at her side and he knew that should any fighting break out, the Shrike would rush forward to capture Cassius if he could. The augmented ex-Enforcer was the fastest of the group from a standing start and his sole job would be to snare the desert ruler and force him at brace blade-point into a bargaining position before the gunplay became too serious. It was a tactic that they had used several times successfully in the past to great advantage.  
The human felt the immense presence of D'argo directly behind him like a stone statue.  
At the rear of the Luxan, Sean positioned himself to cover the doorway they came through, both hands close to the butts of his pair of pulse pistols. Malika turned herself slightly sideways to protect the group's rear and flanks. Andar realized what she was doing a few microts later and positioned himself in a mirror image of the Delvian teen to guard the opposite flank.   
The blue girl allowed herself a quick smile as the Sebacean man copied her. The ex-teacher was learning how to survive fast... and for some reason it pleased her.  
  
His friends in a protective array around him, John focused on the tribal leader and the business at hand.  
"I'm Butch Cassidy," he said, sticking with the crew's cover identities. "And these are my band of merry men. Do you mind telling me what this is all about?"   
He tried for an air of thin patience with the ruler, keeping his face set on what he thought should look like the edge of dark annoyance. The other man only smiled instead and casually strolled over closer to him.  
"Come now, let us dispense with the un-honorable pretense, my guests," Cassius said without resentment. "You are Commander John Crichton - wanted for questioning by the Peacekeepers."  
The human attempted to keep the surprise off his face as the man then turned to Aeryn. "And you, my lady, are Officer Aeryn Sun. Formally Peacekeeper Prowler Pilot, Icarion Company, Pleisar Regiment. Now branded traitor and wanted outlaw."  
Aeryn narrowed her eyes dangerously but offered nothing more in return. The Sakmahar didn't looked offended and instead turned to D'argo.  
"You honorable warrior are Ka'D'argo. Once prisoner and accused of murdering your wife, also wanted by the Peacekeepers." The Luxan growled low in his throat but waited like the others to see where Cassius was going with the revelations. The desert man glanced at Chiana next.  
"You child, are Chiana of Nebari Prime. Fugitive from the Nebari Establishment and wanted on forty-three other worlds for various crimes ranging from theft and burglary to suspected murder. Quite an accomplishment for one so young in cycles."  
Unlike the others, Chiana only smirked in wicked amusement.   
"Only forty-three?" she asked flippantly. "I thought there would be more. And it was self-defense," she added on, almost as a vaguely significant after thought.  
  
Cassius himself grinned slightly at the gray girl and moved on to the Delvian beside her.  
"Malika Phatan," he said as he stood in front of the blue girl. "Daughter of Samnatha and Zanath. Former Peacekeeper slave and mercenary on occasion. Widow of Peacekeeper Lieutenant Rahlin. Likewise being sought by the authorities. Another most colorful traveling companion."  
Malika's green eyes flared with sudden anger and she fingered the hilt of her fighting knife. She might have gutted the Sakmahar at another time in her life, but Zhaan's training took over and she reined her fury in. Beside her, Andar started at the mention of her having a husband and being widowed.   
But before he could ask anything of his Delvian companion, Cassius turned then to him.  
"Andar Murdough... world of origin unknown," the tribal leader began.  
"Shalazar, if you must know," Andar supplied with a slight hint of defiance.  
"Of Shalazar than," Cassius amended with a graceful nod of gratitude for the courtesy. " An educator if rumor is correct. A man of refined background and with an odd talent for understanding machinery and other devices."  
"You have me at a sight disadvantage," Andar comment wryly.  
"I will correct that oversight very soon, honorable sir," the Sakmahar told him. "I am curious, Andar of house Murdough... in your travels or readings, have you heard a story of an escape of an experimental subject in brain enhancement from a race who are sometimes called the Shinai?"  
Andar eyes grew dark for a moment.  
"No, sir... I can't say that I have," he replied a microt later. "But as represented by your vast knowledge of our group already... I am confident that you will learn what you wish to know sometime in the future."  
Cassius regarded him with knowing eyes. "I'm sure I will," he said to the ex-teacher. "We all have our secrets, don't we, Mr. Murdough?"   
"Without doubt."  
  
Cassius nodded his head in agreement and turned away from the Sebacean man, this time to attend Sean.  
"You my friend, are a little bit of a mystery," the ruler told him.  
"I'm like that," Sean simply replied and offered nothing else.  
Another grin broke out on the Sakmahar's face; he was obviously enjoying the game.  
"You share part of a name with John Crichton... and you resemble him in some ways. So I will guess that you both are related to each other somehow."  
"If I had a cigar, I'd give it too you," Sean quipped.  
The ruler bowed his head once more to the younger human. "I do not know what a cigar is, but I believe I understand the initiative behind the statement. It is enough for now that you travel with John Crichton as a member of his group for the moment."  
Impishly Sean grinned back.  
"How do you know that it isn't that they travel with me instead?" he asked.  
Cassius gave him an amused look that said he consider Sean far too young to be leader of the group. Sean almost gave the Sakmahar the one finger salute in response, but decided that it would be a lost gesture on the man and didn't waste his time.  
The desert tribesman than turned back to the front of the crewmates and stepped around the face Berret.  
The ex-assassin blankly eyed him back, waiting for Cassius to state whatever history about him he knew.  
"And lastly, we have Shrike457. Rogue Enforcer for the Scarran Black Syndicate with a 'eradicate on sight' directive on his head."  
Oddly enough, the history lesson on Berret ended there and Cassius walked back over to Rygel near his own low throne-type chair.  
"And of course we have, Rygel the XVI, Dominar of the Hynerian Empire, un-honorably disposed by his cousin Bishan and wrongly held captive by the Peacekeepers."  
Rygel seemed pleased that Cassius recognized the conditions of his treacherous dethronement. The features on the Hynerian's face went from disheartened glumness as the man spoke, to a faint smile of gratitude of having his current position noted with empathy by another who was in power.  
Crichton and the others knew the Dominar was reveling in it and playing it for all it was worth.  
  
Crichton sighed heavily and rolled his fingertips in a gesture meant to tell the Sakmahar he'd had enough of the small talk for the moment.  
"Okay, we know who you are... and you obviously know all you need to about who we really are," the elder human stated firmly. "Now... tell us why you kidnapped Rygel to bring us here?"  
Tezlmin and Yurrek who had remained kneeling by Cassius' throne chair, both turned to look at each other and audibly gasped in shock at Crichton's tone to the ruler. Both men made as if to bolt to their feet to protest or perhaps call John to task for his perceived disrespect. Their intent was never established as Cassius caught their movement out of the corner of his eye and raised one hand to idly bid them to keep their places.  
"You are quite right, Commander. To business then," the Sakmahar conceded. "I ordered that one of your companions be taken. It wasn't necessarily meant to be the Dominar. He was merely a target of opportunity." The desert ruler turn part way back toward where Rygel was sitting. "No slight or offense meant, your Eminence."  
"None taken," replied Rygel as he lifted another roasted piece of some unidentifiable animal to his mouth.  
"The purpose was to insure your cooperation with coming here," Cassius continued. "We have business with one of your party."  
"Which of us?" John immediately demanded, his eyes darting directly toward Aeryn and then the other two females in the crew. These Lawrence of Arabia type guys were always after new women for their harems or as slaves he thought quickly to himself.   
Cassius caught the quick look at the girls and knew what was passing through the other man's mind. He held up a hand to correct the assumption. "Peace, John Crichton. We do not take females for mates by force in the tribes. It is against custom and forbidden by honor. Our business is with another."  
"Then who, damnit!" barked Sean.   
John held up his hand in a mimic of Cassius a moment before to quiet his young relative. If it wasn't the girls, then perhaps the desert dweller wanted hired guns for some reason. It wouldn't be the first time somebody has approached the crew to try and get them to do their dirty work for them.  
Surprisingly Cassius took one step to John's left that brought him up right in front of Berret.  
"You, Shrike Enforcer 457," the Sakmahar said with a serious look. "Our business is with you."  
  
Berret regarded the ruler with an emotionless look, almost as if the man hadn't said a word.  
Chiana pushed up next to the cloaked man and sprouted irately,  
"What the frell are you talking about!"  
John placed a hand on the Nebari waif's slim shoulder and moved her back a step.  
"Wait a minute, Pip," he asked, and then turned back to Cassius. "Explain," was all he said to the man.  
The Sakmahar slightly bowed his head in concord.   
"The Syndicate assassin owes the Forth Dymi Tribe, and my family personally, a blood debt," the desert man explained. "We are now demanding atonement."  
"What exactly has Berret suppose to have done?" asked Aeryn.  
Cassius looked Berret squarely in the eyes as he continued to enlighten the rest of the others.  
"The assassin killed my younger brother, Tohmaus, several cycles ago. Murdered him dishonorably without even the respectable chance to defend himself. Leaving his only child, whose mother died giving birth to her, an orphan. And leaving my tribe without an immediate successor should I fall."  
"Those are serious charges," answered John, "Can you prove them?"  
Chiana broke in with a knowing smirk. "He can't prove anything," she said. "There are thousands of Enforcers from hundreds of Syndicate Houses loose in the Territories. There's no way you can be sure Berret was the one who killed your brother."  
"We have proof against the Shrike," Cassius confirmed.  
"His name is Berret!" Chiana barked defensively, as she pushed closer to the man trying to crowd him. Her cheeks flushed blue with anger as she twisted her face up at Cassius in a battle mask. "He's not a Shrike anymore."  
"Until the blood debt is paid, he was no name other than Shrike or assassin among the desert people!" the Skamahar thundered. "We do not honor murdering filth with a proper name!"  
D'argo reached forward and grabbed Chiana's forearm and forcibly moved her away from the tall desert man. "We don't care if you'll say his name," the angry gray girl shot back. "We're getting out of here anyway and we'll never be coming back to this drenhole planet."  
  
"Alright, lets cool down everyone," John told the room-at-large.  
He moved over to the still silent ex-assassin. Berret looked him back in the eye showing no emotion as usual.  
"How about it, 'Ret?" he asked neutrally. "Any chance that what Cassius says is true?"  
"I do not recall," came the tall Shrike's answer.  
"Fair enough," John said as he turned back to the desert tribesman. He knew that Berret's memory wasn't always complete as far as his past went. "Several years ago, Berret was a slave to the Syndicate. He had a control collar that allowed him no free will. He rarely even remembers those times except as disjointed flashes. If he did this as you claim - he wasn't responsible for his actions. The people you really want for your blood debt are the ones who used him."  
Cassius listened to Crichton's comment and then shook his head.  
"That does not matter... a blood debt is still owed. This assassin killed Tohmaus. My brother's spirit cries out from the night sands for atonement. The debt must be paid by he who owes it."  
The human could see that the ruler wasn't going to budge on the matter.  
"What happens if we decide we want no part of this blood debt and try to leave?" John asked to buy himself some more time to think.  
"Then none will stop you. We have given our bond according to shade truce."  
"Even Berret is free to leave?"  
"Even the murderer if he wishes," Cassius confirmed.  
"What about Rygel?" the elder Crichton then asked.  
The Sakmahar actually looked regretful. "The Dominar must stay then. Shade truce was not made with him."  
"Damn!" muttered John in growing frustration.  
"Well, let them keep Rygel than!" interrupted Chiana.  
"What!" the Hynerian exclaimed, "You treacherous pasty-assed bitch!"  
John was starting to develop a headache. "Easy, Spanky... nobody's leaving anybody just yet."   
  
Andar stepped in to give the human a break from negotiation.  
"Perhaps if you show us this evidence it will make a decision much easier," the ex-teacher suggested.  
"An excellent idea," commented the Sakmahar. "I was waiting for the proper moment to suggest it myself." He turned to one end of the tent's inner chamber. "Lokyu, if you please," he called.  
A shadow none had noticed until then disengaged itself from a back wall and shuffled toward the desert ruler. Once closer, the companions could make out the ancient looking tribesman. The old man held an old style data projector in both withered hands. Cassius took the device with genuine thanks from the elder and turned back toward the group from Moya.  
"Our people have little use for your technology," he explained as he set the machine down on a low table. "But like the sand vehicles, we do find it useful on occasion. This projector contains security video of the murder of my brother. If I can direct your attention..."  
Cassius pressed an activation stud and the device whirled into life... an antique hologram shimmered into focus above the projector's round body. Off screen for a few moments there were cries of warning and the sounds of fighting.  
"This was taken several weekens after I refused a deal with the Scarran criminals to allow them to use our stone havens... places underground where we weather the storm seasons, to hide their contraband. It appears they did not take the refusal lightly and sent their assassins to teach us a lesson in blood," the Sakmahar narrated.   
  
Abruptly, the sound track grew louder and several men rushed into view and regrouped. The majority of the tribesman gathered around a single male in more ornament desert robes. The man who looked similar to Cassius was apparently giving out orders unable to be clearly picked up by the surveillance device, but several men broke off in singles or groups as the leader assigned them tasks.  
The crew had no doubt that the man in charge was the Sakmahar's younger brother Tohmaus.  
Soon the group in the hologram was down to only three men. Something dark rushed in from the shadows and one man screamed as he died suddenly in some unknown matter.  
The next desert man faired little better. This time the viewers saw the pair of brace blades that impaled the man and ripped their way out through his ribcage. On the screen, Tohmaus spun to face his attacker, barely drawing his sword in time. The tribesman's blade flashed downward in a single haphazard stroke, only to meet the superior Bat'Rellite blades of the assassin and shatter. The Shrike seized Tohmaus by the front of his robes and lifted him clear of the sands under his feet. Holding the man with one arm, the Enforcer drove the brace blades of his free hand into the ruler's brother's throat. A savage twist of the elbow and the dying man's head came off.   
The Shrike dropped the body and casually surveyed the area for more prey. The camera froze the image and zoomed in on the assassin's face.  
The still image showed a tall Sebacean-looking male with augmented silver eyes. His long dark hair weaved into a Peacekeeper style battle braid with a heavy gold braid-stop at the end.  
There was no doubt at all it was Berret.  
Both the ex-Enforcer and the tribal leader held the same emotionless look on their features. They both could have been sculpted from the same block of stone.  
Cassius hit another key on the holo device and the image went into motion again. On the screen, Berret turned a little and the tiny blinking status lights on the control collar were plainly evident at his neck.  
"My brother did not even have the chance to engage in honorable combat before he was struck down weaponless," Cassius continued on. "An honorable death is met with sword in hand... not skewered like a livestock animal."  
The hologram Berret finally turned and walked off screen. The program ran for several more microts showing nothing more and then ended.  
"Is that proof enough for you," Cassius asked the crewmates. Oddly, he didn't seem at all pleased to have made his argument to his visitors.  
"Yes... you have," said Aeryn tightly.  
"Surely you can forgive..." Andar began and then several more of his friends joined in all talking at the same time. Trying to offer reasons and requests for understanding from the Sakmahar and his people.  
Malika stood off to one side, not sure about how she felt about what she'd just seen, but willing to back her new friends on whatever they decided to do.  
The only one not trying to speak with Cassius at the moment was Berret. He simply remained where he was, staring at the now empty hologram projector.  
Chiana, ever attuned to the tall ex-Enforcer's moods, was the first to notice and stepped over to the Shrike's side. She reached under the cloak and held on to the metal covered forearm she found inside.  
"Berret?" she asked with a gentle pull on the limb to get his attention. A great part of her wanted her friend to deny the images, to denounce them as fake and a devious trick. At the same time she was petrified he'd remember them as true as he sometimes did under certain circumstances.  
"Berret?" she asked a second time when he didn't respond right away to her.  
Slowly the ex-assassin turned to look at her with unemotional eyes.  
"Berret, say something," she pleaded quietly.  
The Shrike looked back down at the projector. Chiana's blood ran cold in the next instant as he spoke.  
"I... did those things," was all he said. 


	4. Chapter 3

Chiana lay sprawled across several large pillows in the pavilion that the Sakmahar Cassius had given over to the crew to use while staying in his village. It was almost two arns after they had seen the hologram evidence of Berret's guilt and the desert leader had been gracious enough to let the group have time before asking the Shrike to admit his culpability and accept the blood debt he owed.  
The tent, which was near Cassius' own, had been provided for their comfort while the ex-assassin contemplated his formal answer to the charges made against him. It was the strangest captive situation the young Nebari woman could ever remember being in. The Desert nomads seemed exceedingly concerned about their well-being and were extremely apologetic whenever they thought they'd give cause for offense to any in the crew. Well, anyone in the crew except for Berret that was. The tall Shrike they made plainly obvious that they considered to be a non-entity.   
The gray girl sighed deeply and then resettled her chin on her clasped hands. Her mind was racing at hetch-four trying to come up with a way out of this mess, and she rested her chin on her folded hands more to keep them from fluttering about from stress than a need to support her head. John had stayed behind in the Sakmahar's tent along with Aeryn and D'argo, trying to cut a deal with the man while the rest of the crewmates decided to make use of the offered tent to relax and think for a while. Rygel of course had also remained behind as a "guest" of the tribal leader in his pergola. Chiana herself had given up hope for trying to talk their way out of village, but she knew the older human would continue to try for a peaceful solution up until the very moment when weapons were drawn in anger. It was just Crichton's way and a major part of what she always admired about the Earthman.  
Movement besides her mound of pillows caught her attention. It was Berret, and she gazed upward at him through the rogue bangs of her white hair. Her friend had removed his midnight-black cloak and wore only his Enforcer armor now. The dark metal plates that sheathed his body from toes to neck made him appear almost part reptile.  
Part of her also wished he didn't look so damned calm about what was happening.  
  
Berret was more than aware of the gray female's attention and her enervated mood. Chiana was sprawled out on her stomach on the body-sized pillows, letting her eyes follow him around the small chamber of the divided tent they had chosen for themselves.   
In another chamber somewhere else in the cloth structure, the Shrike could hear the muffled voices of Andar and the Delvian girl, Malika, having a discussion. The voices held a kind of tenseness, but were too low to make out what the topic of conversation was about. Of Sean Crichton, he heard no sound from wherever he had selected to rest.  
Berret placed a jug of water where Chiana could reach it, having brought it even if she hadn't asked for the refreshment. The ex-assassin had concluded on his own that the girl would probably be more affected by the desert heat than he would and need the water to replenish what her body had lost.  
The Nebari only continued to follow him with her eyes, a perplexed look twisting her silver-black lips. She made no move toward the water container nor did she appear even slightly interested in it for the time being.  
The Shrike took a moment to make his own assessment of his small friend. He noted that Chiana's cheeks had flushed blue, the insipid azure streak of color marring her normally perfect whitish-gray skin.  
The coloring flush was a telltale sign, he had learned over the last few weekens, that the Nebari could be tired, excited, or under emotional stress. He determined that shade of light blue led toward the more lax condition of the possibilities that he had categorized.  
"You are tired," he said, more for something to say than to make an obvious observation.  
Chiana watched him find a seat next to her on a low chair and wondered how he could be comfortable in such an irregular position wearing armor. She then threw the thought aside as she remembered that comfort had little concern with Berret at times. She had seen him crouched in waiting or standing motionless for arns at a time if needed, without complaint or indications of distress.  
It was just a strange leftover part of having been what he was.  
"What he had been," she told herself silently, "He wasn't a Syndicate Enforcer anymore. He'd escaped that life that had been wrongfully forced upon him. It wasn't right that this Cassius frellnik came out of nowhere to hold Berret responsible for what the Scarrans made him do."  
She felt her lips turn downward in a deep frown, then realized Berret was still looking at her as if he expected an answer to his remark.  
  
"No," she finally said out loud to him. "I'm not tired. I'm worried about my... friend."  
The slight pause had caught her off guard. She had been on the verge of saying something other than "friend," but she wasn't quite she what it was she might have meant to say in its place. "Friend" seemed too imprecise for how she thought of the tall man.  
Berret caught the tiny pause also; although after seeing the hologram of him killing Tohmaus and his men, the Shrike was also sure Chiana had meant to use a description other than "friend." He was certain she meant to say something that would have defined their relationship at a much more aloof distance than "friend."  
He allowed nothing to show that the pause had registered on his consciousness. He couldn't blame Chiana for being repulsed by what he had done to Cassius' brother at the Syndicate's whim.  
He knew if he would permit it, he could barely stand himself over what he let happen. A good man, a better man... would have found a way to stop it, even if it had meant ending his own life to achieve that objective. Instead he'd found out not so long ago, he had been a killer for the Scarrans for over ten cycles. Surely in all that time, there had to have been at least one opportunity, a chance to do the honorable thing.  
His eyes narrowed minutely for a split microt in frustration. It was so hard to remember most of the time.  
The collar had scrambled his thoughts and memories; mostly only the endless slaughter came through in crystal clarity in his dreams. He struggled to recall a brief moment of free will as an assassin, and was terrorized deep inside that if he did find one instant of freedom in his Enforcer past, that he might have actually enjoyed the killing.   
  
"What do you think they'll do?" Chiana asked.  
Berret almost blinked as his gray friend's question cut through his personal thoughts.  
"Whatever they feel they must." His response was noncommittal.  
Chiana allowed a frown to turn down the outer edges of her lips. She hadn't really expected the Shrike to have a ready answer, but she'd hoped anyway that he might have worked out some sort of idea of what would happen. Sometimes he had a knack for strategy and figuring out what an opponent would do.  
She looked back up at the man; something in the back of her mind told her she might be reaching the end of her time with Berret. She didn't like that feeling and she rallied against it.  
It wasn't fair an inner part of her cried. She had found and saved him. She had given him his freedom, had laughed, cried, and even willingly bled for him. Aeryn had John, D'argo had Zhaan, Pilot had Moya, and it even looked like the new kids Andar and Malika might be pairing off. Even Sean had his lost love back on his homeworld he hung on too. And what did she have for herself?  
Berret was the one thing that this frelled up life had led her way that she could call her own. Fate had taken Nerri, and now it looked like it wanted her one last possession too.  
She wasn't going to let go so easily.  
  
"We can fight," she said next in hard determination. The ex-Enforcer only regarded her impassively. His lack of response seemed to irritate her in a small way. She wanted him to be as angry as she had become with it all. "Well, what do you want to do?" she then asked a little harsher than she actually meant too.  
"I want... to do what is right."  
Chiana's jaw dropped.  
"You mean you want to stay... and let them judge this blood debt dren on you?" she asked.  
"If that is what is the right thing to do."  
"You're kinkoid!" the Nebari girl exclaimed. "What if their blood debt says you have to die?"  
"All things must die sometime," Berret said colorlessly.  
He was being circuitous... she hated when he did that.   
"Well being dead lasts a long time... a frell of a long time!" she countered, "It ain't worth doing what's right if it means you're gonna die. What's right for us is getting the frell outta here and shaking the sand off our boots as soon as possible."  
"And Rygel?" Berret than asked, watching her with amounted to slightly curious interest for the man.  
Chiana faltered for moment, she had almost forgotten about the Hynerian and her earlier statement about abandoning him. "I-I didn't mean what I said before... about just leaving him. We'd fight to take him with us, of course," she added.  
"Because that is the right thing?" Berret persisted.  
Chiana gave in and looked morose as she realized he'd roped her in.   
"Yes," she reluctantly admitted. "Because it's the right thing."  
Berret nodded in agreement but didn't look a bit elated that he had made his point with her.  
"I hate it when you do that," she grumbled as she returned to her former chin-on-hands position on her pillows.  
"Do what?" asked the Shrike in small curiosity.  
"Flam~nurk me into doing the ethical thing instead of the smart thing... like running," she told him. "Its unhealthy... and I have no idea where you learned that from."  
"From you," the ex-assassin supplied. Chiana did a double take. She had expected Berret to place the blame on one of the Crichtons... or even D'argo or Zhaan. Anyone or anything else but on her.  
"What? I don't have a death wish! I never have!" she protested as Berret finished pouring a glass of water from the jug he had brought it a few moments before. She absently took the glass from him. "I always do the smart thing!" she continued in minor protest.  
"I know," he said as he handed her the glass of cool water. "But you are not as mercenary as you believe yourself to be either."  
  
Crichton and his two companions arrived at the temporary quarters for Moya's crew not too long after. The party glumly reported no success with getting the Sakmahar to make some other arrangement concerning the blood debt the Shrike owed. There wasn't much else for the crewmates to do but make hasty plans that involved little more than playing the situation by ear and taking the first chance they saw to get everybody out - even if it came down to a firefight.  
Berret said little and offered no opinion while the discussion took place. The others took his silence to be acquiescing and never asked anything further of the tall man as far as his wishes in the matter. Taking for granted that he would go along with whatever the others decided. Chiana sat somberly by, not contributing much more than the quiet ex-assassin to the plans, and knowing that Berret had already made up his own mind about the blood debt. She hoped against hope that somewhere along the line, her friend would change his mind.  
She had little expectation of that happening; Berret could be stubborn to the point of becoming stone if he wished. He didn't slip into that mood often, but when he did, there was little change of even her budging him.  
The group sat and waited for the summons from Cassius to come. Each member taking time to eat, drink their fill of water, or simply rest. Even Malika had ceased her dark complaining of the circumstances and settled into what seemed a more relaxed state of being. Her crewmates weren't fooled by the young Delvian's apparent tranquility, each knew that the girl was preparing herself mentally to fight.  
The blue female's cool edginess even rubbed off on her closest companion Andar. The Sebacean man allowed himself to slip into his own state of blank-minded readiness, even though he still occasional stole a sideways glance at his partner. The earlier private discussion he had with Malika had left him with more questions than answers - and he wasn't very satisfied with what he did learn, which was next to nothing.  
It was just something they would have to pick up another time when they had less pressing business ahead of them. Across the chamber floor from them, Sean lay back on a series of pillows, eyes closed but lightly humming to himself. The occasion frown graced his features as he turned whatever private thoughts he had over in his mind. Whatever the reflections were, he chose to keep them to himself.  
Just before dusk fell over the desert plains, the Sakmahar's summons came.  
  
The crewmembers were given half an arn to prepare for the gathering and then were guided by a torch wielding native back into the Sakmahar's presence.  
Even though their pavilion was virtually next-door to the desert ruler's, the group had not heard any movement outside from the tribe's people or any other out of the ordinary noise. They as a whole were very surprised to find the chamber they had met Cassius in before filled with silent tribe members. Virtually every member of the clan had assembled inside the large tent hall.  
Desert garbed men, women, and children sat in neat rows on the carpeted ground before their leader's dais and low throne seat. Besides Cassius on his slightly raised platform also sat Rygel in the very same place he had occupied that afternoon. The Hynerian looked less then thrilled and more than a little expectant as he saw his friends enter.  
A path had been left opened between the seated throng of people for the companions to approach the Sakmahar's position. John steeled himself for one last desperate attempted to reason with the man and stepped forward down the isle. Besides him, Aeryn grunted lowly in concern. She didn't like the idea of having all the tribesmen at their backs, but she strode forward besides Crichton anyway. Still, that didn't stop her from automatically checking the safety on her pulse rifle and resetting her grip on the weapon's handle. Her dark eyes continuously scanned the crowd looking for the smallest hint of threat.  
  
Behind the couple came D'argo and Sean. The Luxan also warily watched the silent people around them, tense and ready in an instant to draw his Qualta blade from over his shoulder. Sean marched along beside the big warrior, seemingly at a degree of ease, but his Peacekeeper duster unbuttoned to aid in speed-drawing his pair of pulse pistols.  
Next followed Chiana and Berret. The Shrike had re-donned his black cloak over his gunmetal body armor. With his cloak's hood down, he moved forward to face his accusers expressionlessly. The small Nebari girl traveled besides the tall assassin, her gaze darting about the assembly with nervous and excited energy. She wore her customary silver palm pistol in its low hip holster, while thrown over one slim shoulder like a bandolier; she wore the Shrike's pistol belt and his own pulse gun.   
The ex-assassin had asked her to take possession of his sidearm during the final meeting with the desert ruler. Chiana had accepted, hoping that the request meant that Berret decided he would be more effective fighting in such close quarters with armor and brace blades alone, while she with her smaller handgun, could use the extra firepower of the much larger and more powerful weapon he carried.  
Bringing up the rear was Andar and Malika. The Sebacean ex-teacher nonchalantly cradled his rifle in his arms just as he had his hunting longarms back on his homeworld. The posture was deceptively relaxed while keeping the weapon ready for immediate deployment.  
At the tall man's side, Malika kept her shortened Peacekeeper overcoat open and the flap swept back to clear her pulse gun in its thigh holster. Her more dominated hand hovered just brushing the hilt of the large fighting knife sheathed just offside from her belt buckle. With her Delvian speed and strength, the knife would be drawn and thrown in a split microt. Some unlucky attacker would find the knife hilt protruding from his or her chest around the same instant her gun was in her hand and firing its third pulse bolt.  
  
As the group neared the dais, Cassius watched, sitting on his throne dressed in formal robes. The man sat stiff backed as if tense, but his eyes were relaxed and confident as befitted a ruler.  
John Crichton noticed the contradictory body language and instinctively knew that he faced a man who was apprehensively awaiting an important event - an event he was very worried about the outcome of.  
The human led his friends to a halt just in front of the raised platform. Not sure what he should do at that point, he waited for the other man to speak. After all, it was his party, Crichton silently told himself.  
The Sakmahar nodded in approval.   
"Well met, Commander John Crichton," Cassius said a moment later. "The people of the Forth Dymi welcome you and your tribe to our tents. Peace, cool shade, and clear water to you and your descendants."  
John faltered for a few microts, not sure of how to reply to what was obviously a formal greeting. Behind him he heard Andar hurriedly whisper the proper response.  
"And calm desert, true sands, and honor to your ancestors, people of the Forth Dymi," John said, "My tribe and I travel the dunes in peace to your tents.  
The formal reply seemed to go someway in appeasing the tribe people, as a few nodded their heads and murmured approvingly. Cassius himself gave a slightly pleased smile to the group as a whole.  
"And so our tribes have met," the Sakmahar finished.  
"Good," the elder Crichton said. "Now that we have the formalities out of the way, Sakmahar... I would like to ask you one more time if we could work this out some..."  
The Desert ruler raised his hand palm outward to halt the other man's familiar question.  
"The time for talk has passed us now, John Crichton," Cassius replied firmly. " The heads of both tribes have assembled to parley in this matter as is custom. Now calls the time for response. The obligation of blood debt has been lawfully avowed; the tribe has been called to bear witness. Does the murderer acknowledge our grievance?" The leader's eyes finally shifted to lie solely on Berret. "What say you, Shrike 457 - slayer of Tohmaus of the royal Zom'Darmarh line? Step forward and answer if there be any honor in your heart."  
  
Aeryn felt the Shrike move behind her and took a step to one side so he could join John and her at the front of the group. The tall ex-assassin took his place before Cassius, his face unreadable. Out of the corner of her eye she saw John's hand inch closer to his pulse pistol in its holster. The ex-Peacekeeper heard the others shifted around behind her as they readied themselves to pull weapons.  
Her own pulse rifle seemed to grow heavy in her hand as her heart started to race. Aeryn knew that the feeling was just an illusion and part of what signaled that her body was in battle readiness. Any soldier worth his field rations experienced a feeling of hypersensitivity before combat. The rifle had really not grown any heavier, she has simply grown more aware of it as she prepared to fight. A soldier who grew careless and who wasn't aware of every nuance of his or her weapon - was soon a dead soldier.  
Berret stood solid and as poised as stone. The Enforcer armor filling out his midnight cloak, making him appear as massive as a Luxan warrior and just as quietly deadly as one of the war-like race.  
"I freely acknowledge that I eradicated Tohmaus and several others at the Syndicate's bidding," Berret announced. "I also acknowledge that I have done far worse in my service to the Scarrans."  
The Sakmahar inclined his head a single time at the ex-assassin's statement.  
"Your other crimes do not concern us," Cassius continued. "But you show a allusion of honor in freely admitting them. The tribe members who died that day with my brother, died honorable deaths - with weapons in hand and defending their people. You stand accused of slaying my brother, a prince of the Forth Dymi, without honorable combat. You slew an honorable man without allowing him a chance to face you armed. That is our grievance with your crime."  
"I have killed many in such a way," Berret said.  
"Tohmaus' spirit now walks the sands, unable to face our ancestors," the ruler went on, "By spilling his blood in what we view as a cowardly way, you chained him to this realm, shamed his family, and stolen his rightful place in the halls of the honored dead of our tribe."  
  
Unable to contain herself any longer, Chiana spoke out.  
"Even if Berret had a choice, he couldn't have know he was violating your frelling codes!" she exclaimed.  
"SILENCE!" Cassius nearly roared out. "Only the accused may speak now!"  
D'argo laid a huge hand on the slim Nebari's shoulder and urged her to be quiet in a low voice. The Sakmahar chose to ignore the Luxan's whispered instruction and instead turned his attention back to Berret.  
"Assassin," Cassius said, "My brother can rest only if his murderer accepts responsibility... in this way, his honor again achieves balance in the beyond realms. This road can only be traveled by what we, his people and family, ask. Do you recognize your obligation, do you accept this blood debt?"   
The crewmates shifted uneasily in place, waiting for Berret to deny he owned anything to these people. Safeties silently slid off weapons, hands rested on pistol grips. Malika's knife blade cleared a henta of gleaming steel from its sheath as the girl unconsciously readied to throw it.   
Aeryn and D'argo picked nearby targets as John prepared to rush forward and grab Rygel. Sean and Andar began to turn slightly sideways to cover the group's retreat and blast their way through the crowd that they were sure would try to block them from the tent's doorway. Chiana made ready to charge forward to cover Berret's back as he would be fighting with only brace blades.  
The ex-Enforcer stood calmly gazing at the desert leader for what seemed to be an eternity. Chiana found herself silently urging the man to act, wanting desperately to hear the unnerving metal chime of his gauntlet blades deploying for combat. A deep part of her knew she would never hear the sound.  
"I accept the blood debt," Berret announced evenly, without emotion.  
The others in the crew looked momentarily stunned, not expecting the words.  
Cassius surprisingly looked relieved as if a great weight had suddenly lifted from him.  
Not surprisingly, Rygel looked as if he might faint from relief and went limp on his pillow-like chair.  
Chiana simply slumped her shoulders and let out a low distraught groan. 


End file.
